


An Initiation

by bluehawthorn



Series: Lessons in Kingship [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, An Unexpected Journey, Bottom Thorin, Bottom!Thorin, Caring Thranduil, Elvenking, Erebor, King of Mirkwood, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Power Imbalance, Prince of Erebor, Slash, Smut, Thorin POV, Thorinduil - Freeform, Top Thranduil, Young Thorin, top!thranduil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 12:24:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3569594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluehawthorn/pseuds/bluehawthorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin does something that shocks himself deeply, and is richly rewarded for it by Thranduil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Initiation

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after the interaction between Thror and Thranduil over the White Gems of Lasgalen in the Throne Room of Erebor (in the extended edition of The Unexpected Journey).
> 
> There will soon be a follow up to this and it will likely become a series, because I just love Thorinduil so much that I feel compelled to rewrite their whole story.

Thorin walks swiftly along Erebor’s dark corridors. It is deep in the hours of night and the halls are empty, but he cannot help looking over his shoulder, imagining that the cloth-wrapped package against his ribs blazes like a brand for all to see. Surely its burning presence against him and the din of his conflicted heart is enough to wake all who slumber in the mountain.

Finally he reaches the hall where their guests are sheltered and sees two tall elven guards standing straight-backed and stone still in front of the doorway up ahead. As he approaches, their gaze remains focused ahead and their faces expressionless. They simply shift to each side to make room for him. They know who he is.

Hesitating, sick with this thing he is doing, he raises his hand tentatively, gathers his resolve, and knocks.

A low unhurried voice sounds from within. “Come in.”

Throwing an agitated glance up at either guard, he realizes that this is the last chance to turn back and call what he has done a momentary and passing madness. But he knows he cannot. And he has already come this far.

He pushes open the heavy door and steps inside. The guest chambers are spacious and dimly lit by fire and torchlight. And there, standing at the hearth, is the King of Mirkwood. 

Thranduil turns slowly, seemingly untroubled by this late night intrusion on his solitude. Thorin is both relieved and pained that the elvenking is still awake to receive him.

“Ah, Thorin, son of Thrain. I had hoped you would come to me.”

Thorin reels at this statement, anxiety reflaring in his limbs. Only hours ago, Thorin could not have fathomed his own actions. Does Thranduil know why he is here and if so, how could he possibly have seen that Thorin was capable of betraying his own kin and king when he did not know it himself until today?

Thranduil notices his confusion and says slowly, “I saw your discomfort earlier when your grandfather taunted me with the White Gems of Lasgalen. I hoped that I had found an ally in you...one who might see the friendship of our people as more important than greed.”

Thorin rankles a bit at the implied insult to his grandfather, but cannot deny the truth in Thranduil’s words.

So perhaps Thranduil did not expect him to come tonight exactly, but merely saw the potential of an alliance between two representatives of their peoples. Thorin does not know how to tell him why he has really come. His mind scrabbles against it, his heart slamming wildly against his ribcage, and decides that the only way is to say it outright.

“It is true that I felt...discomfited by the actions of my grandfather today.” He begins. “Something has changed in him.” He takes a long breath. “I know the value the gems hold for you, their history, and when I saw your face...” He stops, his mouth working and then chokes out the rest. “I think it is unjust for Thor to keep them ransom for some future gain or simply to torment you. I...I took them.”

Now, suddenly, Thranduil’s calm, arrogant demeanour is broken, just as it was earlier at the foot of Thror’s throne, when Thorin first felt stirred on the elvenking’s behalf. He rounds on Thorin, a look of astonishment on his face. 

“Or, at least the necklace.” Thorin’s mouth is dry as he pulls the jewels from under his tunic and pulling the leather cord that binds the cloth around them, unwraps them on the palm of his hand. “I felt you should have it and I went to the treasury and...” He does not know how to go on, what reasons to give that could account for his actions.

He is young but he knows enough to recognize his own foolishness. What he is loathe to admit is that there is something darker at work in him too. Some fiery ache beneath his skin.

Thranduil walks toward him, holding his long fingers out towards the gems where they lie glowing in Thorin’s hand. When the elvenking reaches him, he picks up the necklace with a kind of reverence, the light of it reflecting in the wideness of his alien too-blue eyes.

“Thank you,” he breathes and the sound of his gratitude catches on something in Thorin’s chest and snarls there, pulling it into his throat.

Thranduil seems almost to sense this, and draws his composure back around him like a cloak. “I am indebted to you, Prince of Erebor,” he says, and his voice is smooth and unrevealing once more.

“I only did what I thought was right,” says Thorin, although the turmoil in his belly does not allow him any confidence that this is true.

“Even so, this thing you have done, it creates an obligation between us. One that I cannot let lie.” Thranduil walks to the bed at the back of the room and places the necklace in a wooden box on a table that stands next to it. The thought of the elevenking asleep in that bed makes something twist and writhe inside Thorin.

“So tell me, dwarf prince, how will I come to repay you?”

For just a moment, Thorin lets his eyes rest on the pale, lean beauty of the elvenking. Then he snatches back the hunger he fears has shown itself in that look as quickly as he can, fearful that Thranduil will see something that he does not even want to acknowledge to himself.

But it is too late. The King of Mirkwood is adept at reading others from millennia of practice and he has seen what surfaced in Thorin's gaze. 

Smiling, Thranduil says slowly, “Oh, I see. Perhaps a bargain could be struck this very night. I would be happy to leave this mountain with the balance restored between us.”

Blood rushes to Thorin’s face as he realizes what Thranduil is implying. His embarrassment is so thick it is suffocating, but there is also a low pulsing of excitement just below it. 

The elvenking walks slowly around him in a circle looking him up and down with a haughty and considering tilt to his chin. “You are pleasing enough to look at, especially for a dwarf. The strength I see in you is admirable. I could be persuaded to repay you in pleasure if that is what you desire.”

And suddenly Thorin knows, with yet another wave of mortification, that this is indeed what he wants. However unconscious or unexamined, it is what fueled his theft from Thor’s treasury and brought him here. The ancient elf king holds some sort of fascination for him, some kind of gravity that only grows stronger as he lets the moments pass without answering.

But no. This cannot happen. Not even should some perverse part of him - a part that longs for newness perhaps, for strangeness, for something from out in the wide world beyond these walls - wants it to. This would be seen as a kind of depravity by his kin, who dislike and distrust elves even when they call them allies. On top of the betrayal and theft that is already weighing on his conscience it is too terrible a thing to consider. 

Besides, Thorin is barely of age. He is completely inexperienced in matters of the flesh. 

Thranduil watches, no doubt seeing all this flickering over his features, and does not wait any longer for him to respond. Instead, he takes his hand and cups the side of Thorin's jaw, running his graceful thumb across Thorin’s lower lip.

Thorin's breath comes in a rush and his body goes rigid, as though he were prey and Thranduil's advances have stunned him into a stupor born of the instinct to survive. 

Eerily perceptive yet again, Thranduil says, "You are young, even by dwarvish standards, yes? Perhaps you do not have much experience indulging the longings of the body with another. If you wish, I could...initiate you. Then my debt would truly be paid and there could be no doubt that it was."

Thorin is warring with himself, knowing he should leave, should refuse this offer before him. He wonders how this has come about so quickly, Thranduil rapidly deducing so much from only a few glances and what has shown itself on his face.

If he is to deal with elves in the future, he thinks, he will need to learn to arm himself more effectively, to reveal less of his thoughts and emotions even when under strain. This is a harder thing for dwarves than it is for elves, leaving his kind at a disadvantage.

But all such thoughts are swept from his head as Thranduil leans down and draws his tongue lightly over the same path his thumb followed only moments before. 

It is too much. The low smoulder in Thorin's blood ignites and he knows he is lost.

Thranduil smiles his small predatory smile once more, and asks, “So dwarf prince, will you let me show you the pleasures your body is capable of this night?”

Flooded with shame, and yet unable to bring himself to refuse, Thorin nods slowly, his eyes cast towards the floor. “Very well then. Undress and go to the bed. Leave only your breeches for now. Those I wish to take off myself.”

Disbelieving his own actions yet again, Thorin nevertheless does what he is told. Stripping himself to only his trousers, he climbs up onto the wide bed. 

Thranduil follows behind, sitting above him, looking as though all of Erebor is his own kingdom and not a place where he is a guest who has been treated with a blend of hospitality and hostility. His centuries have given him a comfort in his own skin that Thorin thinks he himself will never know.

Thranduil looks him over, and Thorin flushes beneath his gaze. The elvenking says, his voice honeyed, “Hmmmm. You are so broad and thickly muscled. So different from elvish beauty and yet I find it....compelling. You wear the best features of your kind Thorin, son of Thrain, and you wear them well.”

Thranduil draws his hands down over Thorin’s chest, and along his stomach. His touch is warm and thrilling. Just below Thranduil’s hand where it lays spanned across his belly, Thorin can feel that he is already grown hard.

The elvenking’s face softens for a moment, while he continues to scald Thorin’s flesh with his touch, drawing his knuckles along his hipbones and the waistline of his trousers. “What you did for me tonight, for my people, it was...well. It was brave and kind of heart and it shall not be forgotten. I am glad to have a way to repay you tonight." 

He pauses, looking more intensely at Thorin. "I want you to trust me. I will guide you through this, and I will only have you do what I ultimately think will make this a powerful and pleasurable experience for you. But if anything becomes too much for you or if you want me to stop at any time, you must tell me, yes? Promise me."

Thorin nods, and when Thranduil tilts his head and waits, he speaks up. "I promise."

Thranduil bends and kisses him, his lips warm and insistent as they part Thorin’s own. And then Thorin is pushing back, his tongue and teeth seeking purchase, straining into the elvenking's mouth. Thranduil eases back, catching at Thorin's bottom lip with his teeth before pulling away. Thorin moans and can feel Thranduil smile. 

"So eager, young one." And with that, Thranduil reaches down, watching Thorin as he rolls his hand over his hardness, varying his pressure along the shaft, kneading him with such skill that Thorin’s eyes close and his mouth parts. He tries to keep himself under some vestige of control, stifling the desire to cry out again so soon. 

“I can see that you are thick in other ways as well.” says the elvenking, smiling, “I think I may enjoy this quite a lot.”

At that, Thorin groans low in his throat despite his efforts. Thranduil bends his head, his white gold hair spilling across Thorin’s skin, and begins to run the heat of his tongue and lips over Thorin’s neck, his chest, pausing for a moment to work at his nipples – and now Thorin is growling deep in his throat, control lost already, arching into Thranduil’s ministrations – before continuing down to his stomach. All the while, he continues to press and pull at Thorin’s cock.

“My lovely prince, you do twist prettily under my attentions. For this next part though I think I wish you to be more restrained.” Thranduil reaches to the table next to the bed and picks up the leather binding that Thorin had used to tie the cloth around the gems earlier. He guides Thorin's arms up over his head before he can protest and binds them to the metal frame of the bed. 

As though awakening from a haze of sensation, Thorin's eyes are darting suddenly to Thranduil's face and his chest is heaving with this new helplessness. This was not what he imagined would come next. 

Thranduil smiles down at him. “Be still, now, and trust. A future king must know how to submit as well as rule. Unless you wish me to stop?"

Thorin finds it difficult to imagine Thranduil submitting to anyone, but then, the elf king and his very long life are largely a mystery. And he must certainly know much about kingship. His curiosity and desire win out. He does not want Thranduil to stop and shakes his head to communicate as much.

Thranduil unhurriedly undoes the ties of his trousers and eases them off over Thorin's legs. He makes an approving noise as Thorin's swollenness is revealed. Thorin has never felt so exposed in his life. He still does not take his eyes off Thranduil's face. 

And then, running his hands up over Thorin's thighs, Thranduil wraps his palm around Thorin and before he has understood what is coming, his cock is against the elvenking's tongue. Thranduil’s mouth is as hot as a forge and it moves over him as though he is indeed shaping Thorin into something new. Looking down, seeing the elvenking's beautiful lips stretched around the girth of his cock, Thorin's vision swims as though that heat is shimmering up through the air. 

He bucks his hips, trying to find his way deeper into the slick warmth that surrounds him. Thranduil holds his cock between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, arching his elegant neck and taking him into the back of his throat, pulling back so the tip of his cock is at his lips and stroking down again and again. Thorin is conscious of crying out loudly and wonders how it is that this one night has undone him so completely, unravelled all his training and self control. 

He pulls on his restraints, understanding now why Thranduil tied them; if he hadn’t, Thorin would be grabbing at the elvenking’s hair and thrusting into his mouth.

All at once, just as Thorin thinks he will be consumed by the inferno of sensation Thranduil is lighting in him, Thranduil stops. He reaches up quickly and releases him from the ties on his wrists, leaving Thorin to collapse and recover. 

Thranduil watches him with a small smile. When Thorin's breathing has quieted, Thranduil leans close to him, licking and nuzzling his ear, asking seductively into one, “How sturdy is your flesh, young prince? Can you withstand some pain in the service of a larger pleasure?”

Thorin speaks for the first time in what seems like hours. His voice is so low and husky and broken that he almost does not recognize it. “Dwarves are made to endure. We do not break easy.” 

“Let us test that then, shall we?” says Thranduil and although anxiety ripples through Thorin again, he is so aroused that it disappears quickly in a blaze of hunger.

Using several of his graceful fingers, Thranduil opens Thorin's mouth and says, “Suck.” 

Thorin obeys, wetting the elvenking's fingers with his saliva, rolling them against his tongue. Thranduil draws in a hissing breath while watching this. Thorin feels a flush of desire wash over him anew, to be admired so by this ancient king, to make his breath grow short. It feels like power even in his submission and he wants more of it.

But then the elvenking is using those fingers to press against the entrance to Thorin's body and he is gasping and trying not to show his fear. "Shhhh," Thranduil says, soothing him like a frightened beast, his other hand stoking across his solar plexus in a comforting rhythm.

And then his fingers are sliding into him and the feeling is strange but not unpleasant. His flesh yields and then Thranduil adds a third finger, slowly working him open. He leans his head once more to Thorin's cock, taking it up in his mouth again and this is a new torment of pleasure that feels like his bones catching fire.

Eventually Thranduil eases his fingers from inside Thorin and releases his cock. 

Thorin feels his body awash with a feeling deeper and heavier than his earlier arousal, more languid and glowing although still tinged with danger, like melted gold. Thranduil gives him time to rest in this warm pooling feeling, stepping off the bed to undress himself. Thorin rests his head on his arm and watches as the elvenking's fine, leanly muscled body is revealed before him.

When they are both naked, Thranduil pulls Thorin to sitting. “Wet me that I may enter you.”

Thorin understands and his relaxed desire is replaced by apprehension yet again. Thranduil means to enter him with his cock, which is now hard and rising against the elvenking's stomach, already wet at the tip. 

Seeing his hesitation, Thranduil voice grows deeper with command. "Do as I say Thorin. Pleasure me with your mouth as I did you, or tell me it is too much, as you promised."

Nervous but wanting more, Thorin leans down and takes Thranduil into his mouth. He is unsure what to do but feels a shudder run through the elvenking and wants to please him. 

The smoothness of Thranduils cock is lovely against his tongue and he draws it slowly up over the shaft before swallowing the head deep into his mouth. He grazes gently with his teeth on the upsweep, circles roughly with his tongue as he plunges back down. He is learning as he goes and can feel the elvenking's body tensing in his enjoyment, his cock growing even harder. 

And then Thranduil’s hand is cupping his chin and pulling him away. His lips wet, he raises his eyes to the elf, who gazes back kindly enough but with the look of one used to being obeyed in all things. The elvenking orders him, "Now lay on your belly.”

Despite himself he is growing accustomed to following Thranduil's lead, and Thorin only hesitates for a moment before turning his stomach to the bed.

Reaching down to spread Thorin's thighs, Thranduil rubs himself with more saliva from his own mouth and places his cock against Thorin's entrance. Thorin flinches. Thranduil stills him with a hand on his back and whispers against his ear, "Do you wish to go on?" 

Thorin's voice breaks, but he manages to say "Yes, I do...I wish to continue." and then Thranduil slowly begins to push against and into him. 

Despite all the testing he has already borne as a warrior and king in training, this is almost more than Thorin can bear; this intrusion, this fierce stretch and burn. He bites down on his own arm and moans, holding his breath against it.

“Hush now. Breathe Thorin. Untense your body and let it open. Surrender to me." The elvenking’s voice is calming but also laced through with an undeniable authority. 

Thorin tries to do as Thranduil says, taking in deep lungfuls of air, willing his body to relax around the fullness that seems to spread deep into his belly even though he knows Thranduil has barely begun to penetrate him. He reminds himself that he wanted this and tries to trust the elvenking, who is so many centuries his elder. He tries to give in.

But he is near to telling Thranduil they must stop when the elvenking says, "That's it”, and moans as Thorin's body lets him sink a tiny bit deeper. The sound makes something spark along Thorin's veins and his body eases a little more around Thranduil’s cock. 

Thranduil reaches under him and wraps his long arm over his collarbones and under the dip of his throat. The length of his body is pressing along Thorin’s back. Using his other hand to move aside his hair, he bites the nape of Thorin's neck, possessing him even further. Thorin gasps and he feels his flesh opening to accommodate the hardness inside him.

Then Thranduil is moving forward and suddenly it is more pleasure than pain and he is gasping as the elvenking's cock hits some sensitive place inside him and then there is a surge in him like dragonfire. He is arching into Thranduil’s next thrust and it is so intense he feels that it will flay the flesh from his bones.

“Yes, that's it", and Thranduil holds his strokes steady, over and over striking the place that reverberates shocks of fire through Thorin until all he knows is the burning and the roll of hips against his backside, the arm holding him tightly across his chest, the red embers behind his eyelids.

And then Thranduil is reaching his other arm underneath Thorin and taking hold of his cock. With long stroking movements he is bellowing the flame in him, which is raging now, a volcano rising in his belly and he is spurting over the bed and clenching and throbbing around Thranduil’s cock. A moment later he can hear the elvenking shout his own climax against his shoulder. His last few thrusts fall against the inside of Thorin and then it is done and they both lie heaving openmouthed for breath.

Thranduil remains lying draped along Thorin's back for some time, even after he has pulled free of Thorin's body. Their long hair lies tangled together beside them, Thranduil’s like veins of precious metal through the stone black of Thorin's. 

Eventually Thranduil eases himself up next to Thorin and caresses him in gentle sweeping arcs, saying, "There, Prince of Erebor. Now my debt is repaid and we will be bonded in this memory and in your returning to me that which is precious to my people. May we use that bond to serve our kingdoms well. You are welcome to spend the rest of the night here if you like, and leave before dawn so that you will not be discovered."

The flowing voice of the elvenking already sounds far away as Thranduil brings a blanket up to cover him and Thorin begins to sink into an exhausted sleep, his limbs heavy with the aftermath of new pleasure. The last thing he hears before the warm dark closes over him is Thranduil saying as if from a distance, "Sleep Thorin, son of Thrain. You did well this night. I will wake you when it is time for you to go."

**Author's Note:**

> I did some reading about what Thorin’s age would be at this time and whether he would be considered an adult. Technically it looks like he would have been very young at this time, especially by Dwarvish standards. Seeing as this story is based on the exchange between Thror and Thranduil which happens in the movies however, I am basing his age on that – in the movie canon Thorin looks to be young, but already an adult with some authority at this time. So you know, young enough to be despoiled by an elvenking perhaps, but not young enough for that to be overly creepy (I hope). All to say, I wrote this thinking of it as a coming of age and not an underage story.
> 
> It's all borrowed except the sex. Comments very welcome.


End file.
